


Christmas Comes to Mallard House

by firesign10



Series: Christmas Comes to Mallard House [1]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Christmas, Drama, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-15
Updated: 2012-12-15
Packaged: 2017-11-21 05:15:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/593856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firesign10/pseuds/firesign10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony has to do some PR for his rich father. He's got some photo op hours to take care of at a DC shelter. An intriguing group of people there, including a taciturn homeless man, teach Tony about loss and what man's kindness to his fellow man really means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Comes to Mallard House

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 15 of the Gibbs/Tony Advent Calendar on LiveJournal. Thanks to sinfulslasher for hosting! Thanks to my wonderful beta and friend, pipisafoat! And finally, thanks to rosemalmaison for a gorgeous banner that I will load here as soon as I figure out how :-)

Tony stewed as he rode in the back seat of the limo. This was not where he wanted to be right now. He looked outside impatiently, comparing the hectic street with the quiet of the plush car. He was bathed in luxury; his Ermenegildo Zegna suit sat easily on his long frame, although he fretted that the back might be wrinkling against the rich leather seat; coffee, ice water, and champagne were available on the mahogany side bar; and strains of Coltrane swirled in the perfectly climate controlled air. Outside, clumps of shoppers and worker bees bustled around the grimy, slushy streets, gripping bags and parcels with tawdry wrappings. Horns blared as traffic lights changed unexpectedly, and the limo itself had had to stop abruptly more than once.

"Clive, how much longer? I'm wasting the whole afternoon here." Tony said to the driver. "Where is this mission house anyway?" He reached for water, but then decided on champagne instead. "I really don't want to miss the cocktail party at the French Embassy later."

"No, sir," replied Clive. "We're just a block or so away now. This traffic is miserable, but I'll do my best to make sure that you won't be late for the Embassy soirée." The limo moved forward again.

"Fine, fine," Tony murmured petulantly. "Don't know why I have to do this stupid photo op anyway. No reason for Dad to get so bent out of shape about what happened at the Russian Tea Room. I couldn't help it that the Mikhailovsky Ballet was visiting that day, and Vaslav, the lead dancer, became enamored with me. Who knew that the diplomatic attaché would catch us in a passionate pas de deux in the men's room?" He thought he heard a snort from Clive and spoke to him tartly. "Everything okay there, Clive? Not steering us astray, are you?"

"No, sir, not at all. In fact, we've arrived. The Victoria Mallard Mission House, sir." Clive got out of his door and came around to Tony, opening his door as he held an umbrella out. Tony stepped out, grimacing at the slush splashing on his highly polished black boots and hopping onto the sidewalk. Raising his gaze to the Mission House, Tony saw a squat building, built of drab gray and beige brick and lacking any ornamentation whatsoever. A few straggly shrubs adorned the walkway that led to a wide pair of double doors. People walked up and down the walkway as they came and went - clearly, the building was a busy one. It was not a prepossessing sight at all, and Tony's mood took a downward turn.

He motioned Clive to accompany him as he started walking across the sidewalk. A sudden cry on one side made Tony stop and turn, startled out of his thoughts. A woman, swathed in a man's shabby topcoat and wearing a brightly colored scarf around her head, was clutching a child to her. She sobbed as she alternated between scolding the child and thanking the man who apparently saved the tot from running into the street and being hit by a car. The rescuer was in a dark coat and jeans, with a red ball cap on top of light-colored hair. He was reassuring the woman and speaking to the child, settling them both down after the scare. He straightened up, flashing them a smile as he turned to leave them. Tony was struck by the intensity of that smile - it beamed, even through the gloomy afternoon. Tony stood momentarily mesmerized before Clive gently prompted him toward the House again. "Shall we get out of the drizzle here, sir?"

"Yes, yes, of course." Tony replied and walked up to the doors. Entering the building, Tony found himself in a large, open space, profusely populated with people of all sizes, ages, races, and genders. The density of the busy, diverse population made Tony shrink back for a moment - he was used to glittering friends and people catering to him. No one was rushing over to attend to Tony here, and it was rather annoying. Never mind, thought Tony. Let's just find who's in charge and get this over with. The Embassy party awaits. He snapped his fingers at Clive, who furled the umbrella and followed Tony smartly.

There was a round counter in the middle of the lobby floor with an "Information" sign posted on it, so Tony headed there. A young woman with coal black hair sat there, her sparkling eyes and wide, red lips smiling at everyone who approached her. Tony drew up to the counter with a calculatedly charming smile, noting her tiny crystal skull earrings and the narrow, black collar with silver spikes on it around her throat. She wore a plain, white blouse, like a schoolgirl's, but her red, black and white plaid skirt was far too short for any school, and the black tights with candy canes on them ended in black, platform Mary Janes. A nametag pinned to her blouse said "Abby". She looked Tony straight in the eyes as she asked what she could do to assist him, her black lace mitted hands fluttering to stillness on the counter.

Tony's default response to questions like that required heavy flirting with a side of innuendo. "Well," he drawled. "I can think of a few things . . . but for right now, I'm looking for the head of this establishment." He looked at 'Abby' with his second best bedroom eyes.

Her face grew colder as she replied, "That would be Donald Mallard, our chief administrator. I'll buzz him that you are here, Mr. . . .? "

"Anthony DiNozzo Jr., from DiNozzo Enterprises. I'm here for a photo shoot for a fundraiser." He smiled broadly, sure that his teeth were shining brightly at her.

"I see, Mr. DiNozzo," she said in a positively frosty tone. "He'll be right here to fetch you. And for your information, I am not attracted to rich boys who think that anyone can be won over by a little flash and glitter. You need more than that to impress anyone around here, sir. We deal in reality and substance." Her eyes snapped at him before she turned away to answer another question.

Tony's feathers were decidedly ruffled. What a little bitch! He huffed as he turned away and scanned the lobby for this Mallard person. He didn't see anyone headed toward him, but he did see the man from outside - the red ball cap stood out, even in the busy room. The man was standing off to one side, just watching people go past him. He had an air of authority; perhaps he was ex-military, with that straight posture. Tony thought he probably had some position here at the House - perhaps they would meet later at the photo op. Speaking of which, where was this Mallard fellow?

Right there, apparently, as a voice with a definite Scottish accent addressed him from the back. "Mr. DiNozzo? I'm sorry to keep you waiting. I'm Donald Mallard. I mostly run this place, and when I say 'run', I'm afraid I mean it rather literally! I'm back and forth, top to bottom all day! I'm delighted to meet you, and I must thank you so much for coming to help us today. It's quite splendid of you. Come with me, if you would, and I'll show you what you'll be doing." He headed down one of the hallways branching off the central lobby. "I thought we'd be in the cafeteria. It's easy enough for the first time here, and you'll see how so many people depend on us for food and shelter. I daresay that you are rather overdressed, but we have some fine, sturdy aprons to protect your very expensive suit. We'll hang your coat and suit jacket in my office, shall we? And here we are, our cafeteria - they're just setting up for dinner. We serve dinner early, as many of our clients don't like to leave their living spaces after dark."

Tony felt completely at a loss. First of all, this short, stocky man was talking non-stop, and second, Tony didn't know what he was talking about. What was all this about helping in the cafeteria? What 'first time here'? And aprons? Tony the Sex Machine did not wear aprons! Tony was here to say a few, heartfelt words about want and need during the holiday season, get several pictures snapped for the DiNozzo news releases and website, and then get the hell out of Dodge.

"Excuse me, Mr. Mallard!" Tony said firmly. "I think there may some misunderstandings here. I'm here to speak about fund raising for your fine establishment - the photographer should be here momentarily - and then I have to leave. Other engagements, you know." He handed his overcoat to Clive and smoothed his jacket, making sure that his crimson pocket square was properly fluffed.

"Oh dear, I'm terribly sorry!" Mr. Mallard said regretfully. "I quite thought you were going to be photographed as you helped out, thereby demonstrating the relative ease of charitable assistance. Think what a striking shot that would present! I'm sure that your father, who so kindly arranged this opportunity for us, would be very proud of seeing his son in such a light, would he not?" Tony wasn't sure that Mr. Mallard's glasses weren't concealing a suspiciously manipulative gleam behind them. However, it was a valid point - the scenario Mr. Mallard described would indeed please his father as well as present Tony to the public very kindly. This is how little peccadilloes with ballet dancers were quickly forgotten. He sighed and capitulated.

"Very well. Clive, take my jacket." Tony slid the elegant garment off and then removed his gold cufflinks, putting them in his own pants pocket. He rolled up the sleeves on his white dress shirt - the thread count was so high that the cotton felt like silk - but left his seasonally appropriate crimson Armani tie on. Mr. Mallard approached him with a beige canvas apron that looped around his neck and then tied in the back. Tony stifled a sigh, but followed Mr. Mallard around the back of the food counter. The selections were simple but hearty: corn chowder, mashed potatoes and gravy, baked chicken, meatloaf, green beans, and small rolls with butter. Tony was stationed behind the potatoes, gravy, and meatloaf area. He was surprised at how appealing the food really was - it looked and smelled very appetizing. He thought briefly about last night's elegant dinner that seemed more about decorating the plate than filling a stomach. He had had Clive stop on the way home for a pizza, resolutely ignoring the plebian nature of that food choice.

"Our patrons will be in in just a moment. Everyone gets one serving or slice per item, so that there will be enough for all. The photographer should be - oh, there he is now! Splendid! Mr. Palmer, right over here, if you would. We need a number of pictures featuring the handsome Mr. DiNozzo, who is going to help spread the good word about our Mission House. He should make a widely appreciated spokesman, I believe. In fact, this situation reminds me of the time I was working in a shelter in New York City. It was winter then too, and we were visited by the lovely - "

"Excuse me, Mr. Mallard," the photographer interrupted. "I'd like to take just a couple of shots before the diners come in - then you can open the doors and I'll shoot through the meal itself. Is that alright?" He looked from Mr. Mallard to Tony and back.

"Of course, of course! And please, both of you, call me Ducky. Mr. Mallard is so formal!" The man smiled at Mr. Palmer and Tony, moving out of the way for the first shots. Mr Palmer clicked away a few times, and then nodded to Ducky that he was all set.

The doors opened and hungry people streamed in. Tony thought it might be chaotic, but everyone was very respectful of each other, and they lined up quietly. They moved past with their trays, collecting their food and immediately moving to a table to keep the line from congesting. Tony was busy doling out his potatoes, meatloaf, and gravy - so busy that he lost track of Mr. Palmer and his camera.

What struck Tony the most were the faces. Filing past him as they slid their trays, he looked up and saw every single face. Not a formless, faceless mass, but people. This one, a younger woman with green eyes likes Tony's and wild hair; that one, an elderly man with rheumy eyes but a sweet smile. Children with a parent, punk or goth teenagers, middle-aged men and women you would expect to see at a PTO meeting - they all came past Tony's station. The more eyes Tony looked into, the more smiles directed at him, the more his disdain and superiority cracked, leaving him ever more vulnerable to the next grateful face.

He was running low on meatloaf when he looked up into a pair of ice blue eyes set in a rugged, handsome face. For a moment, Tony froze, staring into those intense, intent eyes. Then he saw silver-gray hair cut into a short, military style, and a USMC sweatshirt under a dark coat. Sticking out of a pocket was a red ball-cap. Tony's eyes snapped back to the man's eyes, now crinkling at the corners with a small smile. It was the man who'd caught the errant child. Then Tony was confused, as he thought the man worked at Mallard Mission House. "Don't you - aren't you one of the employees?" Tony blurted out.

The blue eyes froze, and the smile was gone. "No, I help out, but I sleep in the shelter here. Potatoes and meatloaf please, no gravy?" Tony served him numbly, wishing fervently that he could take back his words. The man accepted the food and moved on, barely grunting a 'thank you' to Tony.

Finally, the serving was done. The tables were full of people eating and enjoying the food, but the serving line was closed. Now that they were done, Tony felt his muscles aching from standing on the hard floor in his thin-soled shoes, as well as ladling out the food over and over. He took off the apron, looking over the big room filled with diners, but he didn't see the silver-haired man in a USMC sweatshirt anywhere.

Mr. Palmer bustled over. "I got tons of great shots, Mr. DiNozzo. I'll work on them tonight and email them to you right away." He handed Tony a card. "I hope you'll be pleased to use Palmer Photography again, sir." He walked briskly away, bags of camera equipment in his hand and slung over his shoulders.

Tony sighed as he looked for Clive and his jacket. His shirt felt sweaty and grimy, and even his fingers felt sweaty from the plastic gloves he'd been wearing for the last couple of hours. The Embassy party sounded a lot less tempting than it had this afternoon. Tony thought about skipping it and just going home instead, having a cold beer and some leftover pizza and calling it a night. He checked his messages, deleting half of them just on the basis of sender's name alone. Then he saw "Babette" on the message list, and suddenly Little Tony was very interested in the Embassy party after all. He couldn't quite place a face to the name, but the name was pretty sexy. Clive appeared, and Tony ordered him to go out and buy Tony a new shirt, not wanting to take all the time to go home and change. "No need, sir," Clive replied. "Last month you told me to keep spare clothing in a suitcase in the trunk. I'll fetch a shirt immediately, sir." 

Tony was pleased with his forward thinking. He asked the still-frosty Abby about a place to change, and she directed him into the men's locker room around the corner. Clive was already back with the clean shirt, so Tony went to the locker room, looking forward to fresh clothing and a fancy party that - hopefully - would culminate in some highly enjoyable sex with the lovely "Babette".

The room was empty when he entered, so he just put the clean shirt down on a bench - after swiping it off with some paper towels first - and began to unbutton the dirty shirt. He loosened the tie so he could slip the collar out and let the shirt fall down his arms onto the floor. He rubbed himself down with a couple of damp paper towels before unfolding the new shirt. As he was unbuttoning it, the door opened and a man entered. Tony didn't care if he was walked in on while naked, so just having a wife-beater - and tie - on his torso didn't faze him in the least. The other man, however, pulled up short and barked an apology. "Sorry - didn't see you dressing," said the man gruffly. Tony looked at him then, realizing with a start that it was the silver-haired man. His dark coat and red ball cap were gone, and he was just in his USMC sweatshirt and jeans. Upon a closer look, the sweatshirt's cuffs were fraying and starting to separate from the sleeves, and the jeans were very well-worn, with some little holes starting. Tony found himself wondering what this man's story was - clearly he was a proud man, carrying himself well, and alert to the world around him. How did he end up here? Tony wondered.

Apparently that curiosity showed on Tony's face, because the silver-haired man's expression shuttered and he stepped back. "Didn't know anyone was here," he said roughly, and then he left the room. Tony started to go after him but pulled himself up. What on earth was he going to say to this homeless man? 'Want to go out for a beer?' Mind your own business, Tony thought. Move on and forget about the silver fox.

Redressed, Tony sauntered to the front door of the Mission House. Mr. Mallard - Ducky - met him there, a broad smile on his face. "Tony," he said warmly. "You did a splendid job, son, splendid! I warrant you mattered more to those hungry people than any frivolous party-going set. Tell me, dear boy, when could we expect to see you here again?" Ducky's eyes were bright with expectation, and his hand held firmly onto Tony's, making no effort to release him.

Tony felt trapped. He had not planned to return at all, but he found it difficult to say that so baldly as he looked at Duck's pleasant face. There was a rush of movement behind Ducky, and Abby materialized, towering over the older man. She said as her red lips drew up in an arch smile, "Yes, Tony, when can we expect your return to Mission House?" Her slender fingers tapped impatiently on Ducky's shoulder. A young man stood beside her, watching the byplay rather nervously. Abby introduced him as Tim McGee, a newer staff member who handled the Mission House's computer system, both the staff computers and the ones supplied for the use of the patrons. 

Tony felt himself break out into a light sweat as Ducky's, Tim's, and Abby's eyes all bored into him. He could pretend that Ducky and Tim were innocent of such blatant guilt-tripping, but there was no such pretense possible with the imposing Abby. She clearly would not hesitate to use any tactic to achieve her goal.

"Ah, well, I'm afraid I don't have my calendar with me," Tony began. That was it! He'd pick a date at random and then call later to cancel. "How about two weeks from today? That will be just a couple of days before Christmas. Would that do?" He smiled brightly as the relief trickled down his spine.

"Do just fine," a deeper voice said from behind Tony. He turned to find himself face to face with the silver fox. He had a big paint bucket filled with tools in one hand. Looking at him from this close proximity, Tony discovered that the man was almost as tall as himself, and Tony was over 6 feet. He also discovered the intelligence and sorrow that those ice blue eyes held. However, the Silver Fox kept talking, filling Tony with a sense of horror that was greatly at odds with his attraction to the older man. "You're a rich fellow, Tony, or so they tell me. Seeing as that's right before Christmas, why don't you bring a Christmas dinner here? A real one, with turkey and ham and roast beef, and all the trimmings. And pies for dessert. Everyone loves pie." Silver Fox continued staring Tony in the eyes, challenging him to back down. "Think you could do that? Bring something special like that for all of these people? They don't ever get a meal like that - it would be a real gift to them." He looked around, his eyes roving over the people of the House as they went about their business. Affection warmed his gaze, but when he turned back to Tony, the emotion was wiped from his face. "What's it going to be, Rich Boy?"

Silver Fox's challenging tone ruffled Tony. "That sounds great! Of course I'll do it!" he answered resolutely. "Abby, please contact Matthew, my personal assistant at the DiNozzo offices, to arrange the details and delivery of the food. Thank you - " and he stopped before 'Silver Fox' left his lips.

"Gibbs. This is Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Tony. He lives with us here at the House, and is invaluable with repairs of all types. What a wonderful idea, Jethro, thank you so much for thinking of it!" Ducky warbled.

Yeah, thanks a bunch, Tony thought. He smiled through gritted teeth. "Yes, thanks. Fabulous. Wonderful. Thrilling." Tony might have gone on except a hand glanced off the back of his head quite firmly. "What?? I - I - what was that?"

"Know when to say when, Tony," Gibbs said tersely, picking up his tool bucket and moving off down the all. Tony stared after him. Tim snickered, then grunted when Abby elbowed him in the ribs.

Ducky laughed. "Oh, Jethro, he's a character all right. There isn't a thing in this building that he can't fix, and that doesn't even count the wood repairs. Structural, furniture, decorative - it's all the same to him! The man has woodworking magic in his hands!"

"Really?" asked Tony. "What's his story, Ducky?"

Ducky looked sad. "Ah, you mean how did he end up here? It's a sad story, Tony, very sad. So many of them are. Our Jethro was a Marine, a Gunny, and while he was on a tour of duty one year, his wife and daughter were killed in a car accident. He was devastated, and returned to bury them. He finished his term of service, but after his discharge he just . . . drifted. He felt that he had nothing left to live for, and he gave up. He couldn't hold down a job - the man cannot play the social games that so many of us depend on, and grief has made him taciturn and sharp. Eventually, he lost his house. He was on the streets for a number of years, living hand to mouth, taking odd jobs and so on. Despite his lack of motivation, he is nonetheless a survivalist. When my dear mother passed, I used her legacy to create this house. Gibbs walked in one day, and he's never left. We couldn't run the place without him."

Abby chimed in. "And don't let that gruff exterior fool you. There isn't a child here who hasn't walked away with some little wooden toy that Gibbs carved or whittled for them."

Tony's mind whirled under all the information. He needed to sort this all out and digest it. In the meantime, he needed to contact his assistant about the Christmas dinner for the Mission House, and then hightail it over to the Embassy tout de suite.

* * * * *

The days after Tony's photo op were packed. Tony did not do any real 'work' for DiNozzo Industries but he served as a prominent figurehead for it. There were always ribbons to be cut, hands to be shaken, schmoozing to be done. Much of the time, Tony was an advance man - setting up introductions, moving ahead of the actual salesmen and deal-makers of DI. And in between Tony's less-than-onerous duties, he had lunch dates, dinner dates, after-dinner dates, the theatre, clubs, and so on. It made for a busy schedule and a very busy Tony.

He liked being busy. Liked the whirl of faces, the constant buzz of activity. He enjoyed impressing people, especially impressing people that he might want to have sex with. Tony loved sex. The heat, the smell, the sensation of skin against skin - Tony loved it all. He liked men and women both, and they all, in turn, liked Tony. Such a handsome man, beautifully dressed, perfect manners, and that sharp wit! Underneath the designer suits, Tony had a body built for sex - a broad chest perfectly man-scaped, long legs, a trim waist leading to a seductively curved ass, and a good-sized, shapely cock. That cock had seen a lot of society asses of both genders, in a lot of fancy locales. Tony was quite proud of his prowess with Little Tony.

So after his brush with the great unwashed, Tony went on about his busy, flashy life for well over a week. He kept his word and relayed the information about the holiday dinner to his assistant, who in turn called the DI chefs and set everything into motion. Tony mostly forgot about it after - mostly. In his head, he kept hearing Ducky recounting Gibbs' story, and he kept seeing those cold, ice blue eyes. What would those eyes look like if they thawed? If Gibbs were smiling? Laughing? Would they soften, like a misty sky, or would they glitter, like the ice on a frozen lake?

Tony mentally slapped himself on the back of the head - wait, when did that turn into a good idea? Enough, already too much time spent thinking about a gruff silver fox, no matter how foxy he might be. Changing his mental picture with great deliberation, Tony recalled the interlude that followed his escape from the Mallard Mission House - the hours he'd spent with the voluptuous Babette. Oh, her long, slender legs as they wrapped around his hips. Her generous mouth, tasting faintly of strawberries and champagne. Her breasts, full, round, and capped with dark rose tinted nipples which teased his tongue as the breasts themselves filled his hands. He remembered sinking into her, her soft, wet heat surrounding his hard shaft. They moved together for hours, shifting positions, trading oral pleasure, fucking until they were both exhausted. It had been delicious, sensual, hot, everything he - 

Everything he used to want.

Tony sat up straight, shock moving through him like a lightning strike. Babette still floated in his minds eye - a sexy confection of womanhood. But her sweetness abruptly became cloying; her blatant sexuality curdled and left Tony cold. They'd sucked and they'd fucked and they'd each come like gangbusters, and as of right now, Tony would be happy to never see her again. 

Tony got up and paced across his office. This was very disturbing. How could someone like Babette become . . . unappealing? Face, fine; figure, fine; friskiness, fine. She was fine. Babette was the same hot babe from the French Embassy that she'd been before.

So . . .

 

It must be him. Tony. Something was wrong with him.

Maybe he was coming down with a bug. Maybe the flu! He laid his palm across his forehead. No, didn't feel like he was feverish. He ran through a quick physical checklist, and everything came up just fine. In his own unprofessional, unofficial opinion, Tony was healthy and good to go.

While pleased that his body seemed to be in A-1 working order, Tony still felt unsettled about the shift in perspective. Maybe fresh air would help. He strode out of his office, calling for his topcoat. The day was overcast but calm, and he thought he'd go for a short walk - just around the corner and down the block to his favorite coffee shop. A hazelnut mocha would be just the thing, it would relax him and perk him up all at once. Matthew, his assistant, helped Tony on with his charcoal gray wool topcoat - Hugo Boss, of course. Tony loved how tall the long line of the coat made him look, and it was very toasty as well. He waved off a proffered umbrella - "Sir, I do believe it's supposed to snow this afternoon" - and headed for the elevator.

Tony decided this had been a very good idea. The air was cold, but fresh and crisp. People were out in force, which he normally wouldn't notice, but right now? Right now he felt like he was noticing everything. The shoppers trudging along, tired but smiling, arms filled with bags and boxes. Children were running around, filled with the excitement of the impending holiday. Tony saw lights and festive banners on the streetlights and garland looped on store windows. It was a bright and colorful display, and Tony felt happy to be out experiencing it.

He entered the coffee shop, content to wait for the two or three customers ahead of him. The coffee shop was decorated with garland looped around the walls and sparkling ornaments hanging from it. Tiny white lights were wound around the front display case, and the baristas had red and white striped aprons trimmed with holly leaves on the breast. Tony amused himself by looking at everything until it was his turn to order. "Hazelnut mocha grande, and a chocolate cookie." The barista noted his order and then just looked at him. "What? Is there a problem?" Tony asked, wanting his coffee and cookie.

"Dude, how about a 'please'? We serve coffee, but we're not your servants, y'know? Respect - it's a two-way street." The barista turned to the machines and began making the mocha. Tony stood as tall as always, but he felt rather sheepish inside. He thought back to when he was a little boy, his mother telling him to always use the 'magic words'. She'd been proud of his manners, how polite he always was to people. Those were behaviors that his father found useless, though, and as Tony had matured under his father's sole tutelage, simple courtesies like that had evaporated. He looked down at his feet, shuffling a moment before the barista said, "Hazelnut mocha grande, and a chocolate cookie!" Tony raised his head and looked the barista in the eyes. "Here you go! Enjoy, and have a happy holiday", the barista said, handing the beverage over with a smile.

Tony smiled back, feeling redemption knocking, and took his items. "Thank you very much," he said. "A very happy holiday to you, too." The barista's smile broadened in appreciation.

He turned to find a table when he heard his name. Looking around, he saw a tall, earnest-looking young man waving and indicating a seat at his table. Tony smiled and nodded, trying frantically to remember who this young man was and if they had ever fooled around. He stopped at the table and shook hands with the young man, then sat down. The young man looked at him and grinned. "You have no idea who I am, do you," he said in an amused voice. Tony laughed sheepishly and nodded.

"Busted, I'm afraid! Please don't take offense, I simply meet so many people at various functions that it's practically impossible to remember all of their names."

"No offense taken. Tim McGee - we met at Mallard Mission House? You were there for a photo op recently."

"Oh, yes, I remember now. Ducky, Abby, you, Mission House, Palmer Photography. What do you do there, McMission?"

Tim looked at him with some surprise, but went ahead with the conversation. "I'm the computer guru! I maintain the staff computers and network, and we also now have some donated computers for use to the House at large. Visitors and residents at the House can use them look for jobs, apartments, and services online, as well as have access to email, libraries, and so on. It's a new development there, and everyone is very excited about it." He beamed at Tony.

Even cynical Tony found himself being impressed by McGee's sincerity. "Well, that is pretty cool, McMac. I bet they appreciate you a lot." McGee blushed a little. "No, really - I'm being serious. You're bringing a part of the world right to them, probably a part many of them have never had before." Tony surprised himself with his meditation on McGee's contribution to the House. It was something concrete, something one could look at and say, "This was not there, and now it is. Here is my gift." He mentally squirmed as he tried to think of when he had ever done something like that. He drew a blank.

Tim looked at Tony, taking in his sharp appearance and easy manner. Tim spent a lot of time feeling anxious or nervous, constantly wondering if he was dressed appropriately or presenting himself well. He knew his mind was never an issue - his 165 IQ and mad computer skillz were always in demand. Socially, life was another story. He found himself wishing he had Tony's social ease and affable manner.

As they sipped their coffee and chatted lightly, Tony noticed Tim's nervous mannerisms, like the way he tapped his coffee cup so frequently, or nervously cleared his throat. The young man's body looked stiff sitting on the little bistro chair, and he shuffled his feet when he fidgeted. Tony had always felt good in his body - he moved well, he looked good, and he knew it. Maybe he could show the younger man a thing or two, spruce him up, show him how to wear his own skin more comfortably. The idea was oddly appealing to the usually self-absorbed Tony. He liked it. And even more surprising was that he didn't want anything in return. The idea of helping Tim was . . . satisfying all on its own.

Tim stood up, slipping his coat on before returning to Mission House. "Tony, it was nice to run into you. I hope we'll see you again at Mission House." He smiled, his eyes meeting Tony's and then darting away.

Tony grasped Tim's hand, shaking it firmly and warmly. "Yes, Tim, I think you will be. Next time I'm there, let's see about going out to lunch or dinner, shall we? I'd like to get to know you better, if that's okay." He smiled, catching Tim's surprised expression before it faded into a faint blush.

"Uh, really? Um, wow, Tony - sure. Sure, that would be really nice. Thanks!" Tim's cheeks grew pinker as his smile grew wider. 

"Absolutely, McBro. I'll see you in a few days at the Christmas dinner, and we'll make a plan then. Now I'm off to soak up the festive cheer out there, so take care and see you later!" Tony clapped Tim on the shoulder, then left the coffee shop as he buttoned up his topcoat. Tim looked after him with a big grin, shaking his head as he left the shop himself.

 

Walking the sidewalks again, Tony let his mind muse as his feet moved. The feeling grew on him that there was something to be learned here; all of this activity around him meant something. His encounter with Tim meant something. It was all on the verge of adding up, and he needed to figure out what it meant. He wasn't sure what it had to do with the collapse of Babette's appeal, but maybe that would come. He suddenly felt restless, like he'd been sitting too long (weeks? months? years?) and it was time to get up and stretch, time to run and jump and feel himself move. He needed to slough off his skin, like a snake, and be fresh and clean and new again. Somehow being with all these people was helping, or going to help, with that process. He just had to add it up the right way.

Tony stopped and shook his head. What the hell was with all this philosophical musing? Did he need to check and make sure his balls were still attached? The hell with this existential shit - he was going to do something! That was probably the problem right there. Tony was a do-er, not a thinker. There was a reason he majored in Phys Ed in college, after all.

Feeling much better now that he had a plan, Tony buttoned up his coat and walked briskly back to the DiNozzo Industries offices. He didn't really have a plan . . . but he had the germ of one. And it was time to spread that germ around.

 

* * * * * *

On Wednesday morning, December 23, Ducky Mallard unlocked his office and juggled his overcoat, umbrella, satchel, and a large travel mug of Irish Breakfast tea as he entered. He deposited his items variously around the office and hung his hat with his umbrella. Sipping his tea appreciatively, he booted his computer up and then walked to the staff room. Generally the staff floated in and out as their day progressed, but first thing in the morning they usually congregated for an informal update for the day. Today was supposed to be the big holiday dinner furnished by DiNozzo Industries, and Ducky was rather nervous about what would actually transpire. The young Mr. DiNozzo presented as a vain, shallow hedonist, but Ducky suspected that a good heart lay underneath the dross. Ducky hoped the young man himself would be in attendance as much for his own sake as for the House's. The mission of Mallard Mission House was to help everyone - not merely the impoverished.

Abby and Gibbs were already in the staff room when Ducky joined them. Tim came in a few minute later. He was shy and quiet - Ducky thought that Abby quite scared him - but he was making a place for himself here. Ducky felt sure the usefulness and gratitude Tim experienced at the House would help him bloom. 

"Good morning, everyone. We have a very busy day today, if all goes as planned. Abby, what have you heard from DiNozzo Industries about our gala dinner today?"

"Good morning, Ducky!" Abby said brightly. Her holiday outfit today consisted of a bright red corset over a white blouse, and a short, black skirt with snowflake appliques. Her black Doc Martens had scarlet laces, while her long legs were encased in scarlet lace tights. The crowning touch was the red and white Santa hat that perched over her black pigtails and the ornament earrings jingling from her ears. "I have been on the phone or emailing with Matthew at DI the last few days, and everything looks to be all set. The food will start arriving 90 minutes before serving, so that they can heat it and keep it warm on the food trucks, minimizing any delay in our own kitchen. They will provide a dozen volunteers in addition to the three chefs overseeing the food itself to help with set up, serving, and clean up. They will take care of all the trash and recycling issues. Ducky, I have to admit it - I think this is really happening, and that Tony is turning out to be a man of his word."

"Speaking of Tony, will he be at the festivities himself?" Ducky asked. "As to the rest of it, the arrangements sound exemplary. Thank you so much, dear girl, for handling this event so well!" He applauded, and Gibbs and McGee joined in.

Abby looked downcast. "I don't really know if Tony is attending or not, Ducky. I couldn't get a straight answer out of my DI liaison. Apparently" and she sniffed very delicately. "Tony is usually more concerned with, ah, 'wine, women, and song', as the saying goes. He's a . . . um . . .a -"

"A gigolo?" Gibbs interjected coldly. "Not surprised. He's all about the clothes, parties, and sex. He's not gonna show, and we don't need him here."

"Gibbs! I was going to say a playboy!" Abby scolded. She frowned at him. "Tony is doing a very nice thing here, I think we could give him a little credit."

"I ran into him at a coffee shop the other day, and he said then that he would be here for the dinner." Tim offered. "Aren't 'gigolo' and 'playboy' interchangeable terms anyway?" Abby spun and punched him in the shoulder, evoking a loud "Ow!" from Tim, who looked at her with a hurt expression as he rubbed the injured area.

"I think we are losing focus here." Ducky said firmly. "The fact of the matter is that Tony is carrying out an act of goodwill and holiday cheer for our patrons. He is doing so of his own free will. Regardless of any other faults or foibles on his part, he deserves our thanks and appreciation. I sincerely do hope that he will be joining us today, and I expect graciousness from all of you if he does." Ducky took his glasses off and began polishing them with a cloth from his pocket. "The mission of this House is to help all, and sometimes help is needed of a more spiritual nature than a physical. I believe young Mr. DiNozzo to be suffering from an excess of physical concerns and a dearth of moral ones. In fact, he reminds me of a young man that I met at the pub one day, when I was still studying in Scotland -"

"I have to man my desk now! I'll keep you posted, Ducky!" Abby scampered from the room, followed by Tim, who mumbled something about checking on the network.

Ducky looked at Gibbs, who gave him a half smile as he collected his tool bucket and other sundries. "Well, at least they all got to work, Duck," he said, clapping Ducky on the shoulder as he, too, prepared to leave the room.

"Jethro, a moment," Ducky said, catching the other man. Gibbs paused, looking quizzically at Ducky. "Jethro, about Tony - " Gibbs' face smoothed to impassivity. "Oh, Jethro, really. I'm not asking for the world here. Give the young man a chance - the chance to spend time with someone who isn't after anything. I suspect he is pushed and used and he doesn't even truly realize it. He's drowning in a sea of superficial callousness. Let him see someone who is the opposite of that, someone who is honest and straight-forward. Let him breathe the fresh air of charity and integrity." Gibbs looked away, clearly uncomfortable with Ducky's request. Ducky simply waited.

"Jeez, Duck," Gibbs finally complained. "Even if everything you say is true, why me? He's young, handsome, rich. What do I have to offer him - to anybody?" He ran a had through his hair, full on the top but short on the sides and back. "Hell, Duck, you're a much better man for the job than me. I'm just . . . a washed-up ex-Marine with a bucket of tools that don't even belong to me. I'm not your man for this, Ducky. I - I can't." Gibbs' voice broke at the end of his statement, and he left the room quickly.

Ducky looked after him, his face thoughtful. "Well, now, isn't that interesting." His phone chirped, interrupting his pondering. "Oh, dear, must get moving. I suspect this is going to be an interesting dinner indeed . . ." he murmured to himself as he left the staff room.

 

* * * * * * *

As Abby settled at her desk, her phone beeped. Picking up, she answered "Victoria Mallard Mission House, Ms. Sciuto speaking."

"Um . . . is this Abby?" a male voice inquired. "I need to speak to Abby."

"Yes, this is Abby Sciuto. Who is this speaking, please?"

"Abby, it's me - Tony. Tony DiNozzo. I'm calling about the dinner today."

"Oh, no! It's still on, isn't it? Everyone is so looking forward to it already. Please don't say you're canceling!" Abby's heart was in her throat.

"No no no!! Not canceling! Breathe, Abby, the dinner is fine. Matthew told he that he's been in touch with you every day, and he's very appreciative of your efficiency. "Abby sighed with relief. "No, Abby, it's something else. Something I want to do in addition to the dinner . . ." Tony kept talking and Abby's eyes got wider and wider.

 

* * * * * * * 

Gibbs had only a few tasks that day, as little of the regular chores had been scheduled because of the dinner. They had spent the week decorating the entire Mission House, and the place looked very festive. There was a tree at one end of the large all-purpose room, where the whole House met for a musical evening, movies, or game nights. The cafeteria was bedecked with garland and lights, and Abby had found pretty vinyl Christmas tablecloths and candles to use as centerpieces at a local discount store. Gibbs had helped set everything up, including stringing up lights on the outside of the House as well. He didn't mind the decorations and lights, but they called up memories of a little white house with neatly trimmed hedges and a white fence. He'd put up lights and decorations and a tree there, too, and been rewarded with kisses from two lovely redheads, one of whom had lost a tooth right before Christmas. She'd been so thrilled to get a gift under the tree from the Tooth Fairy, in addition to the ones from Santa . . .

Gibbs shook his head to dislodge the memories. So many years, and still so fresh . . . he couldn't decide if that was a blessing or a curse. The years he'd been on the streets, he'd had little time for things like memories. All day, every day, had just been about survival. He'd wished sometimes that he could just lie down and stop, give up, let go. It pissed him off that some stubborn kernel inside him made him hang on, made him fight for warmth, food, shelter - life.

Now he was at the Mission House, and some of that stress was relieved. He had shelter, he was warm, he ate every day. He worked hard, but not to the point of total exhaustion. He had good people around him - Ducky, his rescuer and now his dear friend, and Abby, who'd become like another daughter to him. Even Tim was working his way into Gibbs' regard with his soft manner and whip smart intelligence.

And now there was this irritating, cocksure rascal, Tony DiNozzo. He'd spent one afternoon here, swanning through the Mission House with his fancy suit, fancy haircut, fancy shoes. Hundreds of dollars just dripping off him. Arrogant and mouthy. Gibbs smiled when he remembered smacking Tony's head. He'd needed it too, and goddammit if Gibbs was going to remember how shocked he was at the silky texture of Tony's hair, and how good Tony smelled. Gibbs had been a little surprised that Tony was actually a little taller than him, and he was trying to forget how vibrant those green eyes had been, how Tony's nose had this funny little tip, how engaging his wide smile was. Dammit, not thinking, not thinking . . . not thinking about the way Tony's pants draped over his fine ass, how deft his elegant fingers were as he served the food. Walking into the men’s room to find Tony changing his shirt, his white wife-beater clinging to his well-defined chest, dark hair underneath like a shadow - NO, NO, NO - no one like Tony would ever look at anyone old and broken like Gibbs, and he was being a durn fool mooning over the man like this. Think about Tony's shallow values, his entitled behavior. Think about the stories about his dalliances and partying. In fact, wasn't he AT the Mission House as penance for something? Sex with some dancer in some fancy restaurant's bathroom. There, stupid libido that Gibbs had thought was dead, think about that and not how gorgeous and hot he was.

Gibbs' effort to think of Tony's negatives was only somewhat successful, and he had to duck into a closet and readjust himself in his jeans. He wished he had more work to do, as he urgently needed a distraction, and so he heaved a sigh of relief when Abby paged him to the meeting room. When he got there, Gibbs was puzzled to find the door locked. He tapped on it and it promptly flung open as Abby popped out. "Are you alone?" she hissed, and pulled him inside, locking the door behind him again.

"Abby, what on earth - " he began, and then he stopped. Behind Abby, next to the tree, was a mountain of presents. Presents of all shapes and sizes, all wrapped in shiny paper with bows and ribbons on them. "Abby," he breathed, "what the hell is all this?"

"It's presents, Gibbs! Presents! For everybody!" She positively bounced with excitement.

"But where - where did they all come from? Ducky didn't have money for presents like this!"

Abby looked at him seriously. "It's Tony. They're from Tony. He called me this morning and asked what to get everyone. Practical things, like coats and scarves and hats. Books. Some toys for the kids. And he wrote it all down and he got Clive and Matthew to go with him and they shopped for it all. They went into the store and got a whole bunch of help to buy all this stuff and get it all wrapped. Clive just brought it over in a van, and I need you to help me put it all under the tree. It's going to be a big surprise after the dinner." She wiped her eyes. "Isn't this amazing, Gibbs? I can't believe he did this."

Gibbs was floored. He never would have expected something like this from self-absorbed, spoiled Tony. Maybe . . . maybe Ducky had a point. 

In the meantime, the presents needed to be arranged under the tree. He and Abby did that, taking the mountain and spreading it around and under the branches. "Abby, I have some things, too. Be right back." Gibbs slipped from the room and went to the closet he'd stored his goodies in. He'd collected wood scraps all year from his building and repairs, and in his spare time he'd carved and whittled them into toys. Toy cars, little trains, dolls, all carefully crafted and sanded. Some had hardware embellishments, washer eyes, screw limbs. Some had ribbon or yarn decoration. He brought them all back to the tree, where Abby squealed when she saw them, and they put those under the tree too. Gibbs and Abby looked at the scene one more time before they left. Gibbs put an arm around her shoulders and hugged her, kissing her cheek. She threw her arms around him and hugged him hard. They locked the door when they left.

The dinner was an enormous success. The food was outstanding - not fancy, but delicious and wholesome. There was indeed turkey, ham, and roast beef, along with a host of side dishes - mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, three kinds of vegetables, rolls, cranberry sauce, gravy. As the main course finished serving, there was a lull for cleaning up while everyone was still eating. Then the desserts came out. Apple pie, pumpkin pie, mince pie, and cake too - both chocolate cake and angel food cake were served. Bowls of fresh strawberries were placed on the tables. Laughter and happy voices filled the room. The DI personnel looked rather nervous at first, but they gradually relaxed and chatted liked they'd been there many times before. They did all the serving and then all the cleaning, politely declining offers of assistance from Mission House volunteers.

People were lingering over the desserts and coffee, and Gibbs found himself looking around somewhat anxiously. There had been no signs of Tony, and Gibbs was mildly annoyed at himself for thinking Tony might surprise him. Not that the surprise presents weren't fantastic, they were, but . . . he had to admit that he'd been hoping to see the man himself. Presumably he was out catting it up somewhere, swilling expensive wine and seducing some rich society chick. Gibbs turned a blind eye to the pang that thought gave him. He'd thought about telling Tony - well, it didn't matter. What mattered was that the Victoria Mallard Mission House was having a Christmas like they'd never had one before.

Finally everyone was stuffed. The DI people were cleaning up, including packing all the leftovers into Mission House's cavernous refrigerator. Abby got up on a chair to call for everyone's attention. "I hope you all enjoyed this wonderful, wonderful meal, courtesy of Tony DiNozzo and his people at DiNozzo Industries," she began. Cheering and applause told her they had enjoyed it. She smiled and clapped herself. "I'm so glad, and I know Tony will be glad to hear it too! If you're all done, I'd like to suggest very strongly that we all adjourn to the all-purpose room, and perhaps sing some songs as we enjoy our beautiful Christmas tree!" More applause before people starting rising from their chairs and heading over to the meeting room. Gibbs slipped through the door and moved quickly, arriving at the all-purpose room door to wait for everyone's arrival before they unlocked the door. 

As the people gathered in the hallway, Abby joined Gibbs at the door. "Go ahead and open it," she whispered. Gibbs turned the knob, but was surprised it was not locked after all! Then the door flung itself open, making both Gibbs and Abby start. Inside was an even bigger surprise. It was Santa!

Yes, Santa stood in the all-purpose room, waving to everyone and greeting them, shaking hands and hugging people. He was tall and full-bellied, with twinkly eyes and a soft white beard. He shook the hands of the adults and either patted the heads or hugged the children, depending if they were more timid or not. As Santa moved about the room, greeting people and wishing them a Merry Christmas, Abby pulled on Gibbs' arm. "Gibbs! Gibbs! Who the heck is that? I didn't arrange for a Santa!" she hissed.

Gibbs shook his head. "I don't know anything about it," he said. He looked for Ducky and saw him over by the tree. He waved at Ducky, who promptly joined Gibbs and Abby in conference. "Duck, do you know who this guy is? Neither Abby or I have any idea."

"Oh, I believe it's someone from DiNozzo Industries. Apparently they thought having Santa here would help round out the evening in a festive manner. Seeing as young Mr. DiNozzo saw fit to send all of these lovely gifts, I think it's a splendid idea!" Ducky beamed as he looked around the room. The children were thronged around the tree, whispering and pointing at the bright packages. Seeing the happiness and anticipation on their faces, Gibbs relented in his resentment of Tony. Anyone who could bring joy to these children truly could not be all bad.

Santa clapped his white-gloved hands for everyone's attention. Abby was standing next to him now, and she spoke first. "If everyone could find a seat, I think Santa is ready to start handing out gifts!" Applause rang through the room. "Ladies, gentlemen, and children of all ages, I give you - Santa Claus!" With a flourish toward Santa, Abby stepped back to let him speak.

"Before I hand out the presents," Santa said, "I'd like to thank you for a present you all here at Mallard Mission House have given me. It's been a long time since Christmas has meant what it should, and this year . . . it does. My elves were worried about my Christmas spirit, and I went to my home at the North Pole and told them you people fixed my spirit right up for me. I told them to load up that sleigh, because there was a whole lot of people here that deserved presents." He looked around the room, pretending to ignore the children clustered close to him. "I know there were some right . . . around . . . here!" He grabbed three of four kids in a big hug as they squealed loudly. Laughing, Santa shooed them back a few steps. "And now, a round of applause for the lovely Ms. Abby, who will be assisting me as Head Elf. Ms. Abby, let's begin with this one, shall we?"

Gibbs watched as Abby and Santa handed out present after present. Some were larger and some were smaller, and all were received with gratitude and appreciation. Several adults found themselves with warm, new winter coats; others with scarves, hats, and mittens; older children with books or some art supplies; younger children with small toys or storybooks. All of Gibbs' handmade toys were also handed out to smiles of delight. He sat back and savored the moment - belly full of an excellent dinner, people all around him enjoying the whole evening. He looked at the laughing children with their new toys, seeing a head of long, red hair sitting amongst them and playing. A gap-toothed smile flashed at him and he smiled back, his eyes soft with memory. A warm hand slid over his, and for a heart-stopping moment he thought it was Shannon. Black pigtails made him shut his eyes for a second, trying to catch his breath after the jolt of loss that shot through him. Abby was smiling at him as he opened his eyes again, a tender smile that reflected the caring in her eyes. "You okay, Jethro?" she asked softly. "Didn't mean to spook you."

He shook his head. "No problem, Abby. Just a visit from Christmas Past. I'm okay." He patted her hand.

She glanced up and then back at him. Her smile grew wider. "I think you're about to visit with Christmas Present now, Jethro." Standing up, she bent and kissed Gibbs' cheek before she skipped away. He was puzzled as he looked after her, until a red-suited figure came into his peripheral view.

"Well, hello there, Mr. Gibbs! How are you this fine evening, sir?" Santa asked in a very cheery fashion. Something about him was starting to seem familiar to Gibbs.

"It's Gibbs. Just Gibbs. No mister, no sir, just Gibbs," he said flatly. He thought Santa looked a little taken aback, but it was hard to tell with the beard.

"Fine, fine. Gibbs it is! Now, Gibbs, I have a special present for you." Santa started patting his pockets in search of Gibbs' gift.

"Don't need it. I'm fine, don't need anything. Give it to someone else." Gibbs crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked away.

"But -" Santa began.

"No! Don't need it, don't want it. Just - leave me alone, dammit!" Gibbs started to stand - he needed to get away from this well-meaning fool.

"Wait!" Gibbs froze, then turned to Santa. That voice, was that - 

"Tony??" Gibbs hissed quietly, not wanting to disturb the children. "Tony DiNozzo, is that you? What on earth are you doing in that get-up?"

Tony nodded, grinning. He stood up and laid a finger alongside his nose. "Shh. Can we go somewhere else for a minute?"

Gibbs led him out of the meeting room and into a small office down the hall. He shut the door after Tony entered and turned to look at the erst-while Santa. Tony took the beard down to reveal his handsome, smiling face. "See - just me!" he said lightly, somewhat unsure of how to handle a testy Gibbs. 

Gibbs scowled at him. "You're Santa? What crazy idea is this?" he asked sternly.

Tony's face fell a little. "Well, it's Christmas here today. And I thought it would be nice if Santa came and visited the kids. Heck, visited everybody. Just - a treat, you know? Hand out the presents and all? I thought it was all pretty self-explanatory." He looked anxiously at Gibbs. "Everybody likes presents. Well, except you, I guess."

The older man sighed and looked away. He remembered little homemade gifts wrapped carefully in holiday wrap and tied with ribbon lying under a tree, with "To: Daddy" on them. His heart ached as tears prickled in his eyes. Damn, he hated this time of year.

"That's right. Everyone except me. That's what the second 'B' is in 'Gibbs' - it's for 'bastard'. So leave the old bastard alone and go back to delivering your gifts." Gibbs stopped speaking before his voice could give him away.

"They are all delivered, Jethro. All except one. Please, would you let me deliver it? I don't want to fail as Santa - it's the first truly decent thing I've done in a long time. Please, Jethro - accept my gift. Accept it with my thanks for helping show me what a decent man is really like, and how even a little action can make a big difference. Please, Jethro." Tony pulled a package out of his jacket and held it out to Gibbs.

Gibbs looked at it, his jaw clenched. He looked hard at Tony, as if daring him to make fun of Gibbs' momentary vulnerability. Instead, there was only concern and respect on Tony's face as he looked soberly back at Gibbs. Seeing that Gibbs wasn't - couldn't - reach out, Tony put his hand out and picked up Gibbs' hand. Turning it palm up and open, Tony put the package into Gibbs' hand and closed his fingers on it. He smiled softly at Gibbs, then leaned forward and kissed him very softly, just for a second. Then Santa put his beard up and left the office.

Gibbs stood there, frozen. His free hand came up and touched his lips lightly. Then he looked at the package and slowly, carefully, removed the wrapping paper. Inside was a small set of wood-working tools - the ones to use for fine carving. They were in a leather case, and on the case was embossed "L. J. Gibbs".

 

* * * * * * *

The party finally wound down, and everyone departed for the dorm rooms. Tim had already departed, but Tony, Abby, and Ducky were all enjoying a small nightcap in Ducky's office before all leaving for the night. They were very tired, but extremely pleased with the holiday dinner and party.

"Tony, my boy, our gratitude for your kindness and generosity is boundless. You not only gave everyone the pleasure of an excellent holiday repast, but the joy of Christmas. Thank you, dear lad, thank you a thousand times over." Ducky toasted to Tony.

"You are so right on, Duckman!" Abby chimed in. "That was amazing, Tony!" She jumped up to hug him enthusiastically, and then she also toasted him.

Tony smiled but he felt a little embarrassed. "I was just happy to do something nice for everyone here. Abby, you were a huge help, and Ducky - well, thank you for giving me the opportunity to get involved. A lot of people have written me off as a party boy, to use a polite term. It feels pretty damn good to prove them wrong. I still like a good party," he winked, "but there's more to me than drinking and parties and sex. I think I just lost sight of that. I won't make that mistake again." He toasted back to Ducky and Abby.

"See that you don't, DiNozzo," said a gruff voice, and Gibbs walked into the office. "Got one of those for me, Duck?" Ducky promptly furnished Gibbs with a glass and a bottle. Gibbs poured a short drink and held it up. "To you, Ducky, for being a man who lives his ideals. You rescued me and I will never forget that." He took a sip. "To you, Abby, for being smart and beautiful, and reminding me there is more to life than struggle." He kissed her cheek and toasted her. "And to you, Tony, for opening my eyes as I helped open yours. For showing me the importance of connections, and the resilience of life." He shot the rest of his drink and put the glass down on Ducky's desk. Moving over to Tony, Gibbs took Tony's hand and drew him to a standing position. Tony still had the red Santa pants on with a white tee shirt, but the hat, beard, and jacket were gone. Putting his hands on either side of Tony's face, Gibbs brought their mouths together in a firm but tender kiss.

"Merry Christmas, Tony," Gibbs said as he broke the kiss.

"Merry Christmas, Jethro," Tony said with a smile. He drew Gibbs back in for another lingering kiss.

* * * * * * *

Ducky and Abby, with much gesticulating, crept quietly out of the office. They slipped their coats on and walked out to their cars together. Ducky couldn't help chuckling at Abby's ear-to-ear smile. "I can't help it, Ducky! It's so wonderful! This whole Christmas is just absolutely wonderful!"

"Yes, Abby, we have had our share of Christmas miracles here at Mallard Mission House! Mother would be so pleased!" Ducky averred. "It's quite like a fairy tale, with manly men, of course, instead of sleeping princesses. It quite reminds me of the time I was traveling in Vienna, and we had a case with a man suffering from sleeping sickness - "

"Good night, Ducky!! Sweet dreams! Merry Christmas!" Abby called as she ran to her car and unlocked it.

"Yes, yes, you too, Abby!" Ducky called back. He got into his car and started it, letting the heat warm up a few moments. He shifted into reverse and pulled out of his spot, pausing to look at the lights twinkling on Mallard Mission House. "Yes, indeed," he murmured as he shifted into first. "Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good night!"


End file.
